En Garde
by ThePointGirl
Summary: 'Right, there's a reason why you're here. Just focus all of this downright fried balls, pre-teen anger you two got, okay' Bobby reminded. - Dean and Sam have been bickering at each other and Bobby has enough so he takes them fencing classes to help channel their issues, revealing more than just a little anger management.


**Title: **En Garde

**Disclaimer:** Don't own SPN

**Notes: **For Claire :) This idea came from when we talked about fencing.

* * *

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away. Nope that's not how it started.

Once upon a midnight dreary. Dammit, not that either. One more try.

The road so far…

* * *

'The hell we here for?!' Dean exclaimed, turning to Bobby and frowning at the man, flailing a little.

'Fencing. It's a sport, It'd be good for you' Bobby replied, looking past the banner sign and the windows of the exterior.

'Bobby, we're not ten years old and need extra phys-ed classes, 'cause we never need it anyway. Well, Sam might have to get rid of the puppy fat-' Dean sneered, almost smirking as the man in question punched him in the arm.

'Whatever Dean, grow up. Like you passed every physical ed class in high school. You were less jock more pretty boy' Sam preened, the sarcasm dripping its way into his tone. Dean grimaced, looking as if he would very much like to punch Sam in the middle of the street. 'Seriously Bobby, fencing? I mean….' But as smart as the younger Winchester was, he couldn't end the sentence.

'What? Either of you gonna tell me that this sport is for pansies?' Bobby snapped, facing the brothers who each gave bored and stubborn expressions, Bobby wanted to smack their heads together.

Actually, he'd wanted to do that for the past four weeks. Not only had these two chuckleheads had finally reached breaking point, when they hit, punched, threw various objects at each other, that it was enough. No longer could this go on. The remarks were getting worse; the sneering almost juvenile. Bobby cuffed both of their heads. Not that it did anything.

Sam would insult Dean's intelligence, Dean would come back an insult Sam's lack of relationships, Sam would very loudly explain Dean's sickening loyalty to their father and it went on, and on, and on. Sam received a black eye and a sprained wrist, Dean a split lip and a dislocated shoulder.

So Bobby put them both in the back of the truck and drove them to a place he thought would help. A friend had suggested boxing but Bobby had said the technique was too close to what they were already doing. Another hinted at Fencing, due to the concentration and needing to watch your opponent and predict their movements. A technical and almost elegant sport. Traditional too.

'Fencing originated in Spain, moving to France and then England. It's duelling at it's finest. So, what are we doing here. We know how to fight' Sam responded finally.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

'Not like this you don't. You know how to scrap, how to inflict pain sure. Neither of you two idjits know what duelling is' Bobby said gruffly, pushing open the door to the Sports Centre, not looking to see if they followed him. It was a relatively open area, passing the reception, following the signs to Activity Hall Three allocated to Fencing.

Bobby stood aside, observing everything in the Activity Hall. There were about twenty or so men, all dressed in white gear (the outfit for fencing) and the masks, flexing and performing quick change overs. Bouts were taking place, and training with a coach and a few others too.

'Hey, hello!' a guy bounded forward, blond in his late twenties, all smiles and brown eyes in full fencing attire but lacking a mask. 'I'm Harry I'm the President of the Men's Fencing Association. How can I help you?' he looked evenly between Bobby, Dean and Sam, watching their height and balance.

'I'm Bobby, I signed these two up for Fencing classes' Bobby replied, Harry nodding with a grin.

'Brilliant. Any of you have any experience?' he asked, rolling on the balls of his feet. His eyes switched to over Bobby's shoulder. 'Hey, Aaron, parry better, quicker. He's going to get you- I- that's nice. There you go' Harry sighed, clapping his hands.

'Nope. They're both newbies in this'

'Good. I love teaching rookies. Uhm, well as you're here – you are?' he held his hand out to Dean.

'Dean'

Then to Sam.

'Sam'

'Dean and Sam. How very biblical. Ah c'mon, I'll take you down to the lockers and get you kitted out' Harry slid past them, taking a look back to view the hall. Bobby stared, as Dean shot a look to Sam before walking to follow Harry with a resigned sigh. Sam hesitated, but Bobby grunted to get the kid moving.

Before they reached the lockers, Bobby coughed. 'Right, there's a reason why you're here. Just focus all of this downright fried balls, pre-teen anger you two got, okay?' Bobby reminded. Each one gave him an acknowledgement of his speech. Not that that meant anything. Bobby had history with Winchesters and their listening skills.

Bobby leant on the wall of the men's locker room, hearing Harry's muffled explanations inside and the rustling of clothing. Bobby pursed his lips in irritation when Dean's voice reached a new pitch level regarding britches. He wasn't going to lie, the fencing kits weren't exactly what Winchester men were used to but Bobby couldn't bring himself to care. If they both looked like idjits the better.

When they appeared eventually, Bobby came face to face with blinding white kits. Even though their kits weren't tailored, they were pulled and fitted to be streamlined and you could see both men were fit. Sam and Dean held their masks, Sam twirling his around and around.

'Uhm. Right, gloves. Dean your hands are similar size to mine, you have my spare for now. Sam, you're your hands are smaller, more slender. I'll grab you one upstairs. You aren't left handed are you?' and Sam shook his head. 'Good. Can't stand lefties' Harry took out his Sports Fed ID, scanning it to pass the barriers.

'Hey, Harry I can sit and watch right?' Bobby asked, Harry turning on his heel to walk backwards.

'Yep. No problem. Sure you don't want to have a go, though?' Harry bribed, Bobby waving hand in denial.

Back at the hall, Bobby hovered, before seating himself on the benches by the windows. Harry began talking to Sam and Dean, explaining more than he had done in the lockers.

'Okay, there are three different weapons in fencing. Three of them have three separate feels, separate rules, which is obvious. Now, the first one I start people on who've never encountered fencing before is the foil. It looks like this' Harry crouched, opening a bag and sliding a long sword out. Harry handed the first to Dean, the second to Sam and the final he kept for himself, adjusting the grip. 'Okay how you hold – hang on' Harry darted forward, Bobby grinning slightly as Harry stepped into Dean's space and altered his grip on the foil. 'Like that. You need to have the pressure on your forefinger and thumb. That's where your aim is targeted' Harry moved to check Sam's grip slanting his wrist. 'You both handle armoury, shotguns, handguns?' Harry asked in curiosity.

'Yeah. We're addicted to shootin' ranges' Dean answered for the pair of them, a tight lipped smile gracing his face.

'Y'see I can tell. You're used to handling weapons. It's moulding in you. Makes my life so much easier. Right, now the en garde position is a way of starting every match. Copy what I do as close you can' Harry assumed a position, the foil held at around ninety degrees, aimed to the left side. Bobby stopped listening, watching the match on the piste with two very aggressive fighters. When he dragged his attention to Sam and Dean, they were doing lunges at each other. Sam had more accurate lunges, however Dean's were sharper.

They moved on to different styles of attack and defence. The foil only included the torso in its area of attack with the tip of the blade and any touches off target stopped the play altogether. A referee decided the priority of the fencer. Foil was also the lightest weapon of the three. Harry placed Sam and Dean a good distance apart, standing in the middle of the range but out of the way of play. He looked like a devil's advocate. Just what they needed. They pulled down their masks over their faces, but due to height differences it wasn't hard to tell who's who.

'Ready. You're picking it up really fast. Okay, en garde, alle' Harry eyed the two, and Bobby watched keenly. They hovered, sizing the other up, one not daring to move. Sam struck first, extending his arm and therefore in priority. Dean – although not the most graceful man Bobby knew – took steps in retreat. However, Sam's lunge hit Dean straight through the pectorals, Dean wincing slightly. 'Not bad. Dean remember to parry, but footwork is nice considering I haven't told you anything. Sam very clean. Step back. Salute' the brothers raised their swords in a sportsmanship salute, 'En garde. Alle' and this time Dean wasted no one second before extending his reach and parrying with Sam but gaining priority once more and hitting his younger brother square in the chest with force, Bobby hearing the _oof _Sam emitted. 'That's more like it' Harry clapped, 'See, the rules are there for scoring. Foil is almost like – well not ballet but it's an art. The movement is the most fluid as you'll realise' Harry carried on. Bobby saw Sam remove his mask, running a hand through his floppy hair, the foil on the edge of his fingertips. Dean did the Sam, flexing his grip on the weapon, not looking at Harry directly but listening all the same.

Harry taught them more about the foil, a little on footwork, calling another man over to show them some useful ideas. Sam and Dean didn't speak directly to each other, asking questions to Harry or other fencers, developing at their own speed.

'Now on to Epee. This is my favourite weapon and this is where it gets more fun. This is where you can get more of an idea of your opponent, whether they're defensive more than aggressive, whether they bounce on their feet or they crouch and strike like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. It's an all body weapon' Harry replaced their foils, introducing the epee. 'As you can tell, it's a heavier thrusting weapon' Sam grinning at Harry. 'You boys will probably prefer it. This gonna sound sexist, but men tend to do the best in epee and sabre – the final sword – women dominate on foil. Not sure why. Epee targets the entire body as I said and because of this there is no priority. All hits must be with the tip and not the sides of the blade' Harry touched his epee to Sam's, asking the man to move. The screech of metal against metal never ceased to send a shiver down his spine. It reflected the times Dean had been small and playing with John's hunting knives. 'It's the most realistic of original duels as it's clearly each man to himself. You can achieve double points too' Harry paused, adjusting his glove.

'So you can hit your opponent in the groin and that's a point to you?' Dean asked incredulously. Harry chuckled.

'Yep. That's why we wear the guards. It's not the best area, but if your opponent doesn't defend themselves properly – there you go. Now. Here's an idea, Sam come here' Harry beckoned. Sam put space between them, Dean standing back to watch. The lethality of the two men was apparent if you gave them a weapon to hold. 'Hit me with your best shot' Harry put his mask back on, Sam following suit, Dean now humming the song. Bobby resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'En garde. Alle'. Bobby's eyebrows rose as Sam and Harry clashed, the sounds of the epees colliding. Harry jumped out of the way, parrying Sam, the weapons managing to lock. They separated when Harry called stop.

'Your quite strong' Sam commented.

'Compared to you, yes I might say so. Dean'

Sam and Dean swapped places, swapping hard looks too.

Bobby, to ensure they went to the classes, joined Sam and Dean over the next few weeks; proudly grinning when Dean won a match against one of the society fencers. Sam and Dean had yet to have an unsupervised fight but being optimistic was never Bobby's strong suit. Harry showed them the final weapon, the sabre. The weapon was light cutting and thrusting weapon that targeted the entire body above the waist, excluding the hands and including the top of the mask. Hits with the edges of the blade or the point were only counted in play.

'It's what we like to joke as a Pirate's weapon. Used in Pirates of the Caribbean films and is realistically the oldest swords' Harry said simply, aligning his en garde stature so the weapon was defensive.

'So, it's a slicing weapon rather than a thrusting one?' Dean asked, Harry agreeing with a vigorous nod.

'Yep. You hit along the arms, chest, like this' demonstrating to both men with the sabre stilled on top of Dean's chest. 'In reality, you would bleed from these wounds so in sabre you can always think about not wanting to do just that'

'There are different parries in sabre right?' Sam asked, tilting his head to the side, leaning on one foot away from Dean.

'Correct. There are three available in sabre, plus the ones you two now know for foil and epee. Parry three, four and five. I'll just use Dean' the said Winchester looking a little peeved about being prodded like a doll, but complied none the less. 'Dean, lunge at me'.

Dean did just that, Harry parrying him by pointing the blade skyward, moving Dean's sabre away from his own body, avoiding contact.

'Standard en garde, but the guard is kept low, sword upright with a slight forward tilt. That's parry three. Okay Dean, lunge once more' Harry repeating the same stance. Harry continued on with the next two parries.

Bobby slid along the bench to allow a young man to sit down who had just finished a bout on piste. Bobby trained his eyes back to Sam and Dean, who at that second were involved in a parry, their sabres held tight.

'C'mon' Harry said glibly.

In that split second, Sam's grip slipped, his sabre crashing to the floor and Dean sliced across Sam's upper arm.

'Ooh, quick. You alright Sam?' Harry asked. Sam, just snatched up the sabre twirling it – even in the mask Bobby could see the cold set of Sam's jaw – already in en garde.

They returned to the fight, the sabres bearing down and swishing, cutting against each other through the air.

They drew.

Once Harry let them be, they split up, taking other fencing partners and learning from them. Dean got backed up along the piste so fast he couldn't defend smooth enough, Sam trying more creative attempts, earning an solicited swipe at his ankles by his – shorter – opponent.

Every time they faced one another in heats of the separate weapons (mostly epee), it was a mess of angles and cursing.

At least they were focused.

So Bobby told the two he was going to head back, that when they were finished they could come to his place. Each Winchester answered in their own idiosyncratic way, jarring with the other.

Bobby walked out of the Activity Hall, getting into his truck and hoping to something out there he had done the right thing.

* * *

The class ended, Sam asking if they could stay on in the Activity Hall longer, Dean talking to one of the fencers who was packing up his stuff and looking up at Dean. Harry said sure, as some of the guys were playing table tennis or doing another sport and they wouldn't actually leave for a while.

Soon the hall was pretty much empty apart from Dean and Sam and a few weapons. Possibly not the best.

'Oh wow' Dean commented, holding out his arms, his sabre elongating one arm.

Sam stood, mouth parted as Dean swung the sabre around like he was Johnny Depp or something. They hadn't laughed together in weeks boring into months, but Sam sniggered and soon he was laughing at his brother.

'You're not Captain Jack Sparrow' Sam said as seriously as he could, trying to stop the grin and deadpanning but to no avail.

'No' Dean shrugged, looking blankly at Sam, 'I'm more Will Turner' Dean said haughtily. The smug bastard.

'Sure' Sam said idly, Dean waving the sabre, it twisting in slicing motions towards Sam. 'Yeah, that's not how you use it' Sam reprimanded.

Dean, who pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, his whole body tensing up again.

'Yeah okay, whatever Samantha' so Sam, lunged forward the sabre whipping his epee against Dean's lower waist. In the quietened hall, the sound of metal next to cloth made Sam's skin prickle. Dean curved away from him with a disgruntled look on his face.

Neither wore masks which wasn't safe, but neither one brought it up.

'Wrong weapon man, at least go even' Dean retorted.

'What, you want to play fair _now_?' Sam snapped, rolling his shoulder back and putting space between himself and Dean.

'What do you think, college boy?' Dean snidely replied, his green eyes hooded but glaring.

'Fine' Sam replied, bending down to pick up a spare epee, turning to Dean and saying 'Catch', throwing it.

Dean caught it.

'Let's do this properly' Sam said.

They bowed to each other, a sign of respectful play.

'En garde, alle' Sam said loud enough for Dean to hear.

What happened in the next few seconds was the slow but solid break down of everything over the last month.

Epee was an all body weapon that was it was most like actual duelling except you couldn't touch your opponent with your hands, just your sword. All the attacks, the lunges, were calculated, rough and got more aggressive at each turn. Sam swiped at Dean's feet, the man jumping to avoid it, Dean pattering backwards, going on the defensive. They stayed, eying the other, trying to make movements, then thinking better of it.

There it was again. The tension. The troubling tension that when Sam parried down, Dean's arm bent and he had nowhere to go. The flush across Dean's cheeks, and the scowl permanent did nothing to distil the adrenaline.

Sam gave in, releasing the parry. In doing so, they both reacted in synchronisation, receiving double hits (and points).

'That's what, one each?' Dean asked.

'Yeah' Sam nodded, ignoring Dean and finding the clock on the wall extremely interesting. 'Again?'.

The fight began again, Dean lunging, his epee caught Sam's calf, Sam blocking, sliding their weapons up to torso level again. Without warning, Dean pushed at Sam's guard – consequently his hands – sending Sam stumbling. Sam growled, coming right back at his older brother, their epees conflicting in fight. Sam feinted, bluffing, seeing the window of opportunity, as Dean's guard was open; he thrust the epee into the crook of Dean's elbow. The man grunted. That would bruise. Likely. Sam noticed the light bruise on Dean's lip which was fading but still present. The space between them increased and decreased, and they kept on a straight line. Sam knew this broke the rules but it wasn't about the epee anymore.

It hadn't been for a while.

The sun was slowly setting, the warm orangey glow passing the windows of the hall and flooding the ash wood flooring. Only seconds, counting one, two, three, four, five, six, Dean took long steps towards Sam, epee outstretched. Sam wished he reacted sooner or faster, but in trying to swivel out of range an parry, he tripped. He hit the floor on his ass, holding onto the epee with dear life. Ouch. That had hurt. Sam breathed deeply, aware that his visuals consisted of Dean's legs and feet. Suddenly an epee touched the soft, vulnerable skin underneath his chin, urging Sam to look up. He did, meeting Dean's gaze straight on.

'I won that one' Dean smirked.

'Get that thing out of my face'

'It's not in your face, it's in my hand'

'Get that thing, in your hand, out of my face'

Really? Sherlock Holmes and Watson banter from the recent film? They were damaged people. Dean thought about it, letting the epee drop. Sam gulped as Dean moved away. Missing the cold metal.

Sam jumped up, sorting his kit, and fiddling with his glove. Not really certain what was going on right now.

'En garde?' Dean asked, saluting Sam with his weapon.

Sam balanced himself, nodding curtly, saluting Dean. 'Alle' he replied sharply.

'You know, we'd both have bled out by now if these were actual swords' Sam panted, walking in a circumference around Dean.

'Yep. Feels oddly satisfying, don't it?'

'So I'm not the only one with kinks?'

Pinpointing when their sneering comments turned into banter occasioned issues. That's what happened with them. They lived on a dependent bond, where banter switches to anger and back again. Giving the time frame of that slip was another matter.

'Fuck off' Dean said, but Sam never felt the heat in it. There wasn't any.

'You know. Harry's not a bad teacher' Sam shrugged, striking out, not expecting Dean to defend himself and parry.

'Yeah. Talks enough'

'Reminds me of someone' Sam mused, watching in smugness as Dean let their epees drop, swinging heavily at Sam, who dodged it by ducking. Rookie move.

'Quite cute. If you go for –'

'Pretty boys?' Sam interrupted, watch in fascination as Dean's eyes narrowed.

'We're back to that? What's wrong with you?' Dean exclaimed. Sam blew his fringe away from his sight, drawing his height back.

'Nothing. Drop it'

'Oh no, no, no spill'

Sam struck, their epees touching again, and again, the parries harder and the aggression building to the point of breaking. Dean clearly wanted an answer, getting up into Sam's personal space, their epees barring. All down to force and judgement of when to move. Sam wanted to get away, wanting the freedom again. So he stepped away, only to pull Dean with him.

Gravity was a bitch.

Sam pulled, the epee guards cracking in an echo, Dean taking a step forward and sending both of them to the ash floorboards. Deja vu, no?

They still held a lockdown on the weapons, glaring at each other, huffing in each other's face. Sam relaxed his grip, Dean pushing Sam's hand and epee away to the floor. Sam dropped his head, desperately wanting Dean off him.

Dean held Sam's left hand too. Sam couldn't move at all.

'Are we seriously carrying on with this shit? Talk, man!' Dean bent low, Sam aware that Dean's thighs were straddling his lower waist, his foot twisted to keep Sam down.

Sam was boiling under the kit. So not fair.

'What do you want to hear?' Sam asked, licking his lips, lungs ceasing as Dean's eyes tracked the movement.

'Anything you got that's not getting my back up' Dean growled in his face.

'Your back?' Sam spluttered. 'That's why we're here Dean. We're both driving each other insane' Sam scoffed.

'I got that, smartass. What's your thing with pretty boys?' Dean's glare weakened to a scowl.

'I haven't got anything with pretty- why am I having this conversation with my big brother?' Sam asked, morphing his features to the best he could into a bemused expression.

Sam swallowed, tensing, aiming to push Dean off. Sam was strong, stronger than Dean, however Dean could paralyze anyone with enough determination. Sam hadn't been in this type of hold since he was fourteen and wouldn't tell Dean about a girl at school, so Dean got a hold of him. It had all been a flurry of tension leaving Sam in the shower that night wondering why he could still feel Dean's rough hands and his cold ring and why his gut ached for a touch _now._

'What about Claire Cohen?' Dean asked, Sam faltering as his brain caught up.

'How can I help a woman who hits on me?' Sam loudly asked.

'She was all over me and then you walk in' Dean was now dangerously close to Sam.

'Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't the one who sent her a blinding smile. She freaking – what was I going to do, She likes tall guys, Your tall, I'm taller. Deal with it' Sam gritted his teeth during the last sentence.

'Tall guys? Pfft. The hell she –' Dean backed up, 'Blinding smile?' there it was, that tiny hitch at the side of Dean's mouth. Sam noticed Dean had lessened his hold. Sam shifted, rolling them, wrenching his hand away from his brother's and placing his epee under Dean's throat. Dean's pulse escalated, his eyes dilating.

'Yes your smile is charming. Jerk. You know all too well it is' Sam snarked.

'Bitch. Oh uhuh? So what? I'm a good looking man. She fell head over freakin' heels for that cute, innocent thing you pull out' Dean raised an eyebrow.

'What? She's demanding, knew what she was after. Stop blaming me. Besides, I'm not cute' Sam defended his masculinity for what felt like the umpteenth time.

'Oh you are' Dean said quietly, barely breathing it but the sound echoed. Dean's hair, longer than normal and floppy due to exercise hang over his forehead in tufts.

'Did _you_ just call me cute?'

'_She_ clearly thought you were. Petting you like that' Dean made a disgusted face,

Sam's brain had short circuited somewhere along the lines. The friction and heat, moulding to what they would have called anger. Now Sam saw it. Stripped away, it was purely one thing.

Sex.

Sam tried something. He slanted his body down, waiting for Dean's reaction. Dean's hips did this weird stutter, evoking pants out of Sam's mouth.

'Claire-freaking-Cohen. Twenty-one, long blond hair, what is it with blondes?' Sam asked, to himself, really, but Dean looked blankly.

'Don't know. One of the few times a chick's actually been interested in both of us. I'm not happy about that!' Dean looked perturbed and petulant.

'I don't get it either. Want to ring her and ask her?' Sam snapped.

'Hell no' Dean gruffed. After a few beats. 'Harry's blond'

'Huh?'

'You said something about blonds. Harry has blond hair' Dean said as passively as he could.

'Right' Sam replied dumbly.

'I still don't understand why you got all huffy. She obviously preferred me, what's the problem? It's because I'm older. You went off at me like a freaking terrier' Dean accused.

Sam didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to know. He hadn't any control.

'She wanted us both. With her' Sam said slowly. 'She wanted a threesome' Sam shook his head, sighing. 'She whispered in my ear all the things she wanted _us _to do' Sam surrendered.

'So you're mad at me because a chick, who thinks we're partners in the FBI, wanted a threesome?' Dean asked casually, his eyes showing a hard quality about them. Sam didn't understand that.

'Yes' Sam admitted. 'I didn't want to _share you_' he whispered into Dean's chest. Hoping, just hoping Dean didn't hear that last bit.

'You – wait. Sam?' and the said Winchester looked up, from where his eyes where focused on the point of contact between his epee and Dean's neck.

Sam crashed his lips onto Dean's, wishing that it none of this had came out. Regretting what he was doing, breaking away from his brother's warm, sweet lips. Dean sighed - no, he _moaned_ - under Sam's mouth, his own dropping open. Hot mouths in a searing and hungry kiss. It was everything they had – hard, dominating, seeking out desire. Dean bit Sam's bottom lip, Sam feeling the rush of blood to the flesh making him blush.

'We shouldn't do this' Sam voiced.

'Nope' Dean agreed.

Sam didn't need to say that he spent his life wanting things his shouldn't have.

Dean was one of those things.

'Beautiful boy' Dean, bucked his hips. Sam hated that he was hard under the guards and he could do nothing about it. He groaned. 'You want to know something?' Dean asked, his voice cutting sharp. 'I wouldn't want to share you either'.

Sam released the epee from Dean's throat, managing to stand in a fluid motion. He held out a hand to Dean who hadn't moved. Dean's dilated eyes and flushed cheeks was all he saw. Dean accepted the help up, scrutinizing their weapons, suddenly very interested in them.

'Bobby was right. Fencing channels everything' Sam mused, Dean chuckling breathily. 'Dean some of the things I said I-'

'Hey! Save it. Doesn't matter'

'Right, no chick flick moments' Sam said, holding a hand out for Dean's epee and then securing the back in the bags.

'We gotta go back to Bobby's?' Dean asked, looking anxious.

'Yeah'

'Let's hit the lockers then' Dean huffed, violently removing his glove.

Once down at the lockers, Sam saw the other kits meaning other fencers etc were still around. The air was awkward again. He really wanted a shower, they both did. Removing the jacket of his kit, Sam's skin breathed in the cooler atmosphere. Sam didn't noticed Dean strip or leave his side.

'Sam. You joining me?' Dean asked from the shower. Two towels hung on the hook. Sam looked down at his hands, biting his cheek, before joining Dean under the hot spray of the fourth shower stall.

Sam's blackberry had been flashing.

_4 missed calls - Bobby_


End file.
